


Stay or Go

by Cardinal_Daughter



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Humor, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-23
Updated: 2015-01-23
Packaged: 2018-03-08 19:12:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,502
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3220229
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cardinal_Daughter/pseuds/Cardinal_Daughter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><em>The storm outside keeps her more a prisoner than Rumplestiltskin ever could. Or in which Rumple and Belle are brought together by some rather persistent forces of nature.</em>  </p>
<p>My RSS 2014 gift fic to Raereagirl on Tumblr.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stay or Go

**Author's Note:**

> No beta. Apologies for any mistakes. 
> 
> Prompt: Thunderstorm, Dark Castle, Injured Bird 
> 
> _Disclaimer: I do not own Once Upon a Time. All rights belong to ABC, Adam Horowitz, and Eddy Kitsis._

Stay or Go

The storm outside is raging wildly but it’s no match for the frantic thundering of Belle’s heart. She knows her concern is silly and unwarranted; Rumplestiltskin has endured much worse in his lifetime. From the books that spin tales to his own home-spun stories, Rumplestiltskin has endured countless attacks, injuries, and near-death experiences. To be out in a storm- violent though it appears if the howling wind and constant thunder are any indication- is nothing for the Dark One.

But even with the assurance of his survival, Belle cannot help but worry. She knows anyone else would be grateful for the frequent absences, but she cannot find joy in the absence of tittering laughs and mocking remarks. She’s grown used to those sounds and to be without them, even for a few days, is growing unbearable.

She’s grateful she isn’t afraid of storms. She used to be as a child, but then her mother had taken her out during a particularly nasty storm and they had danced to the sound of thunder and laughed in the face of lightning. They both came down with vicious colds from the excursion, but Belle had never feared storms again. Now she takes comfort in them; they are a memory of her mother, twirling about in rain- soaked skirts, hair matter to her head and shoes turning muddy beyond repair.

Belle wonders if Rumplestiltskin has ever danced in the rain. She wonders if he ever would with her.

Lost in her memories, Belle doesn’t register the crash of the doors swinging open and, thinking it’s the thunder once more, doesn’t turn. Only when she hears the sound of footsteps does she, startled to see Rumplestiltskin passing through, soaked to the bone, and carrying a cage with a cloth covering it. Belle rises from her seat to greet Rumplestiltskin, but he doesn’t slow for her, not like he’s done before. She feels a little hurt at his slight, but when he stops at the door, turns and asks her softly for tea, the sting lessens.

She runs to the kitchen, eager to get to him to see what’s in the cage and to find out what her friend - not master, never master - has been up to. She revels in his stories; he knows of her desire to travel the world, and while he’s yet to invite her on a trip he now tells her of his travels and even sometimes brings her back a trinket that is distinct to the region from which he’s just returned. She keeps them on a shelf in her room, dusting them with more dedication than she gives the rest of the castle. 

She arranges the tea tray with two cups and a plate of cookies she’d made the day before when sheer boredom drove her to the kitchen in a desperate attempt to do _something_ useful. She’s still not adept at the skill but she does well enough to not receive a grimace when Rumplestiltskin takes a bite. And cookies are a simple enough endeavor. She’s yet to burn a batch, at least. She takes the tray up the winding trail of stairs, silently counting them as she goes. It’s a habit, one she’s had since she first learned to count. Sixty-two steps total, winding round and round, leading her up to the tower.

“Sixty-one, sixty-two,” Belle mutters as she reaches the landing. She’s no longer winded by the journey, and for that she’s glad. Knocking on the door to alert Rumplestiltskin of her arrival, she enters to see him fiddling frantically with the cage, pulling down the cloth to obstruct her view from what’s inside. Clearly he doesn’t want her to know what he’s captured.

Deciding it’s probably best if she _doesn’t_ know, she ignores the cage and steps to the work bench and sets the tray down. After she pours the tea, Rumple joins her and adds some honey to his cup. He insists on the chipped cup, though she doesn’t quite know why. She has her suspicions, but she tries not to dwell on those.

“It’s bad out there,” Belle supplies softly as she stirs two sugars into her own drink. Rumplestiltskin makes a small hum in agreement and steps to a window, opening the panes to let in the hot air. Rain pours in as well, but he doesn’t seem bothered by that. Instead he watches, content to let a little of the chaos from outside into his realm. It’s often enough that he takes his chaos out there; rarely does he allow anything inside. Belle wonders as she moves toward him if he finds her chaotic. He seems surprised by her often enough. Perhaps she isn’t what he expected.

“Did you have any trouble?” She asks, peeking over his shoulder to watch a streak of lightning light up the sky, “From the storm?”

“Storms are of little consequence to me,” he says before taking a long, slurping sip of tea. Shaking her head in exasperated amusement, Belle turns to go back toward the table. It’s her intent to offer him a cookie; the Dark One, she’s learned, has a soft spot for sweets.

She passes the cage but is determined not to let curiosity get the best of her. But then a small noise comes from under the cloth, and Belle pauses before turning back to look at Rumple, who is staring at the cage with a look of shock and betrayal.

“What’s in there?” Belle asks, deciding there’s no use in pretending she hadn’t heard anything. Whatever it is, she’ll take it in stride.

He looks reluctant, almost angry that he’s been caught, but he steps forward and, after putting down his cup, throws back the cover with an unceremonious flick of his wrist.

Belle looks down, head tilting in confusion as she takes in the sight before her. She’s oddly disappointed. 

“A crow.”

“Yes,” he says.

“Is it magic?”

He shakes his head but doesn’t look at her. Instead he’s staring at the bird, as if silently cursing it for revealing itself. “No.”

“Was it part of your deal?”

“No.”

Belle places her own cup down and bends forward, studying then animal inside. “Then why-“

The bird moves then, flexes its wings and Belle gasps as she finally understands. The bird’s right wing is damaged, many of the feathers pulled out. The wing is bloodied and the crow can only move it for a moment before it squawks and lets the wing fall limp to its side.

“It’s injured!”

Rumplestiltskin steps closer, slowly. “Yes.”

Despite her efforts, Belle cannot help the thought that enters her mind. _Surely he cannot mean to kill this poor bird!_ But she thinks before she speaks and allows herself to study Rumplestiltskin for a moment. He’s looking at the bird intently, but there’s no malice or ill intent in his features. Belle has only been witness to it once, but she thinks she knows the look that graces the Dark One’s features when he has violence on the mind. The look he wears now is not that look, and Belle feels relief and guilt that she doubted him in equal measurement.

“Why do you have an injured crow?”

He shrugs, as if it’s not a big deal. “I found him that way.”

“Oh.”

“Yes.” He clears his throat.

“So what are you going to do?”

He reaches a finger in between the bars of the cage, and Belle worries that the wild animal might try to bite him. But instead the crow accepts the gesture, leans into the caress, and makes a soft, contented coo that Belle would never have associated with an animal so often regarded as a harbinger of malcontent.

“I’m going to heal him,” Rumple supplies, as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. The bird seems to like him, and edges closer to him so Rumple can better pet the top of his head.

Belle watches with intense curiosity as Rumplestiltskin interacts with the bird. It’s strange, she thinks, to see such kindness from him. Then again, she reconsiders, perhaps not. He’s since given her a room far more elaborate than anything her father or Gaston could have provided for her. He let the thief escape after discovering the man’s wife was pregnant. Beneath that hard-edged, scaled exterior lies a heart that beats with the same kind of love that flows through Belle’s veins, and while she can’t imagine anyone purposely bringing harm to a simple bird, she can’t imagine many people who would go out of their way to heal a simple bird either. But Rumplestiltskin has always been peculiar; he’s never been what Belle thought he ought to be, and his constant breaking down of labels surprises her. It shouldn’t. She’s rebelled against being confined to so many roles in her life that she should know better than to place those same structures on others. But at times she can’t help it. By all rights Rumplestiltskin should be a vicious, child-stealing, murdering monster. But instead he makes jokes, teases her about her ability to cook, gives her more gifts than any suitor ever dared, and tends to injured birds.

It makes no sense; or rather it shouldn’t. Yet Belle watches as Rumplestiltskin opens the cage and carefully scoops the bird into his hands and somehow, it does.

The bird doesn’t seem frightened. It seems entirely willing to let Rumplestiltskin do as he wills, and stays perfectly still when Rumple places it on the work bench before rummaging through his shelves looking for a vile. Belle leans against the table, glancing down at the bird with a cocked brow that silently expresses her bemused state. The bird does nothing, just sits perfectly still and waits to be moved once more. Even should its natural instincts kick in and tell it to flee, it wouldn’t get far, and Belle wonders if perhaps the bird is simply resigned to its fate or if it, like her, can sense the goodness that lurks in the murky depths of Rumplestiltskin’s soul.

He finds what he’s looking for and returns to the table, tensing when Belle doesn’t move away. She looks like an eager apprentice waiting for instructions, but Rumplestiltskin has learned his lesson with apprentices and so gently nudges her back from the table.

“Careful, dearie,” he says with a tone that should be full of warning.

“What happened to it?” Belle asks, resuming her place against the table. Her elbows are flat against the table, hands crossed over each other and her chin rests atop them as she observes the master at work.

“He was attacked, no doubt,” Rumplestiltskin says softly as he begins mixing some strange looking green plant in the potion he grabbed, “He’s a young fellow, so I wager he thought he could handle himself. I found him on the ground near a tree.”

“His injury looks like something tried to eat him,” Belle says, pointing carefully at the wing at the bird’s side.

“Possibly,” Rumple says, “I don’t know. But he’s fine now. Hopefully also learned his lesson.” His tone is a bit more forceful at that, and he’s looking directly at the bird. He’s chastising it, Belle thinks with amusement before glancing down at the creature. His head is bowed and for a moment Belle imagines that the bird is ashamed of its bravado and for being lectured in such a way.

“So what will that potion do exactly?” She asks.

“It’s not a potion,” Rumple replies. “I don’t like to use magic on animals, if I can help it.”

Sitting up straight at that revelation, Belle asks, “You mean you’ve done this before?”

He nods absently as he continues to mix the concoction together. When he finishes, he lifts the bird’s wing and pours a little of the mixture on it. The bird squawks, struggling slightly in protest before settling down. Keeping his hold on the creature, Rumple nods toward the other end of the table.

“Hand me those binding supplies, will you?”

Belle looks at him curiously for a moment before trailing her eyes over to see a small splint and a roll of cloth. She grabs it and places it between herself and Rumplestiltskin who grabs the cloth, holding one end between his teeth and slicing the length he needs with a sliver of magic. He then sets the bird’s wing on the splint and begins to wrap it.

“I’ve cared for my share of animals,” he says quietly, his focus on making sure the bird isn’t expressing any pain.

“What sorts of animals?” Belle asks before wordlessly reaching out to assist Rumple in securing the knot to hold everything in place. He nods his thanks to her, then turns to put the crow back in his cage.

“Sheep, sheep dogs, a few rabbits, numerous birds. A fox, once. Even a couple snails.”

“Snails!” Belle laughs, “You tended to snails?”

“Yes,” he says with a shrug as he pours some water out of a pitcher into a bowl and places it inside the cage with the crow, “I’ve stepped on a few snails in my day. Perhaps some small part of me wanted to make up for that.”

Belle can hardly believe what she’s hearing. He deals for young women to end wars but he feels guilt over stepping on a snail. She can sense that there’s more to the story there than he’s telling, but she’s content to let him keep his secret. She follows him and bends down to peer into the cage. The bird looks uncomfortable, and probably will for some time. Leaning in closer, she watches the bird and asks, “What was that, if not magic? And why didn’t you use magic?”

Rumple hums at her, having been distracted by placing some food in a small bowl. “Animals cannot come to an agreement. It’s hardly fair to expect a price from a creature who truly cannot understand the depth of what I do.” He places the food inside the cage, watching with an amused smirk as the crow hops over to the bowl and begins pecking at the seeds and berries. “It’s a simple herbal remedy that will heal the cuts. But the wing is broken. It must heal on its own time. I dare not use magic; the cost is not worth the outcome.”

He shrugs and adds, “And sometimes it’s best to let things take their natural course.”

That intrigues Belle. “So magic isn’t the answer to everything?”

Outside the thunder cracks. Rumplestiltskin looks away. “No, dearie. Not always.”

* * *

The storm rages on outside but within the castle walls there lies a peace and tranquility unlike which Belle has never known. Ever since his little secret about his affinity toward taking care of animals was revealed, Belle feels as if she knows an entirely different version of the man she knew before.

He’s still the same Rumplestiltskin. He still plays tricks and teases her and is every inch the mischievous imp she’s known from the beginning. But there’s a softness to him now; it’s stretched beyond his tender care of the crow and now extends to her. He’s never been cruel to her, but now he’s even more gentle: his hand brushes hers as she hands him his tea. His hands ghost against her as he brushes by in the workroom. There’s plenty of space for him to pass by with ease, but he stays close and Belle silently blushes as she prepares the crow’s bowl of food while Rumple mixes more of the concoction that will mend the cuts on the crow’s wing.

“We should name him,” Belle says a little over a week after the crow’s arrival. Rumple looks up at her with a quizzical brow raised.

“Who?”

“The crow, silly.”

His nose wrinkles at the thought. “He’s not a pet. Naming him will only encourage attachment, and nowhere in our agreement did I say you could have a pet.”

He’s teasing, in a way. Belle sticks her tongue out at him, causing Rumple to snicker at her sudden bout of immaturity. Turning away, Belle places the food in the cage and smiles prettily at her companion. “I think you need a name, don’t you agree?”

The crow makes a pleasant sound, and Bells gives the creature an endearing smile. “I think he agrees.”

“You’re not naming the bird.”

“I’m thinking Clyde, or maybe Samson.”

“We’re _not_ naming the bird,” Rumplestiltskin repeats. His words fall on deaf ears as Belle bends down to study the crow. She tilts her head from side to side, humming as she does so.

“No,” she says thoughtfully, “I don’t think those fit you. Oh!” She leaps up, spinning around and clapping her hands together excitedly, “Rumplestiltskin Junior!”

She is met with a look of pure distaste. “You are _not_ naming that bird after _me_!”

“Why not?” Belle asks, turning back to look at the bird once more, “I think you two have quite a bit in common.”

“Oh really?” Rumple says, unamused, “And what traits to I share with this bird?”

“Well,” Belle says, tapping her finger on her chin thoughtfully, “You’re both relatively quiet; neither of you seem to eat much. Most people wouldn’t think a crow could be so friendly, but underneath that dark exterior lies a sweet and gentle soul.”

“I am _not_ sweet or gentle.”

She throws him an unconvinced stare, adding an eye roll for extra affect. “You keep telling yourself that.” She moves closer to where Rumplestiltskin stands, his arms crossed like a petulant child who is throwing a tantrum for not getting his way. She tugs on his arms until he loosens them, and slides her hands down the length to grip his hands in hers. He’s staring at her, eyes locked on their hands. Belle hadn’t meant it to be anything more than a simple, friendly gesture, but now she feels the warmth of his hands and suddenly wants to hold on tighter; wonders what it would be like to be enveloped in that kind of warmth all around her.

“You _are_ , Rumplestiltskin,” she insists, “But your secret is safe with me.”

She lets go of him and slips out of the room, the sound of her heels covered by the persistent thunder outside.

Rumple watches her go, rubbing his hands together idly as if trying to ensure the feeling of her hands on his doesn’t fade anytime soon. He glances over to the bird who, in Rumplestiltskin’s paranoid mind, looks almost smug.

“You are not going to be named after me,” he declares as if the crow has any say in the matter. He turns and sets to work on a long-overdue potion, all the while mulling over the fact that Belle finds him sweet. He’s been so many things to so many people; no one has ever paid him such a compliment. He almost wants to do something to ensure he’s worthy of the title.

* * *

The heavy rain starts to dampen Belle’s usually cheerful disposition. She doesn’t mind the storm, far from it; but it’s spring now and she wants nothing more than to go outside and bask in the warmth of the sun. It’s not that the castle isn’t warm; one complaint from her during the first month of her stay that it was a bit too cold for her liking had spurred the Dark One into warming the entire castle from dungeon to tower.

So it’s not a lack of warmth, or even light. Nothing can compare to the light of the sun, but the Dark Castle, for all that its name implies, is surprisingly bright and cheery. The décor isn’t gloomy but rather vibrant, if not a bit eccentric. It’s cozy in its own quirky manner, and Belle finds comfort that the place that had looked so imposing on the outside could be so welcoming on the inside.

Much like the master of the castle.

But even still, Belle wishes to go outside and walk the earth. She’s seen the gardens from her window, but she arrived in winter and now the spring has brought about an angry army of storms, keeping her more a prisoner in this castle than Rumplestiltskin ever could. She thinks of the crow, still in the cage in the workroom, healing slowly. She can sympathize with the poor bird. She’s trapped too. She cannot think of the Dark Castle as a prison; not even when she spent a week in the dungeon could she think of it as such. But now, with the weather behaving in such a dreary manner, she cannot help but feel as trapped as the crow upstairs.

“You look sullen.”

Belle gasps, whirling around from her position at the window, tripping over her feet in the process. She’s steadied by a pair of hands, large and warm on her waist, and she looks up to see Rumplestiltskin looking down at her in concern. On his shoulder sits the crow, its wing looking slightly better.

“Forgive me,” Rumple says softly, “I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

“You didn’t,” Belle answers quickly, “I was just a bit too deep in thought.” She glances up at the crow and smiles, “Seems he’s taken with you.”

Rumplestiltskin bristles, the movement only disturbing the crow slightly. “I opened the cage to replace his water and he jumped up. He refuses to leave.”

Giggling, Belle reaches up to rub her finger under the crow’s beak. He tilts his head upward to allow better access and Belle laughs again. “He has good taste in companions.”

“There aren’t many to choose from,” Rumplestiltskin responds tightly, “I personally think he chose rather poorly.”

“I don’t.”

Rumplestiltskin stares at her with wide eyes but she focuses on the bird, who is nudging her hand with his head.

“Yes, well, you have questionable taste, dearie.”

Belle shrugs, rising on her tiptoes and leaning closer to Rumplestiltskin to better pet the bird. He’s still holding her waist and now that she’s closer, it feels like a true embrace. Belle tries not to make a big deal out of it, cooing to the bird instead.

“I think that’s subjective, don’t you, Rumple Junior?”

His hands tighten at her waist. “Don’t call him that.”

Belle says nothing, but lowers herself so she stands flatfooted once more. She doesn’t back away and the Dark One keeps his hold on her, neither willing to say anything lest the moment be ruined. A sudden clap of thunder startles them both, and the crow flaps his good wing, cawing in protest. Rumple removes his hands at that, despite Belle’s secret wish that he would remain. A small sorrow settles in her heart and she looks out the window as she silently curses the storm for being a nuisance.

“What were you thinking about?”

She makes a questioning sound and glances back to him. “Oh. Just the storm.”

“It’s been dreadful,” he agrees.

“I suppose,” Belle replies, “I love storms; but this one is overstaying its welcome.”

“It would take a great deal of magic, but I could stop it. If you wish.”

Belle considers the offer for a long moment, then turns to look out the window. The sky is a dreary gray, and though Belle is fond of the color, she cannot help but miss the blue. The rain pours and the trees that surround the castle grounds bend and sway under the invisible hand of the wind. Leaning back slightly, Belle’s back bumps Rumple’s chest, and she bites her lip to keep from sighing aloud.

“What would the price be for such a feat?” Belle asks, not interested in the offer, but curious nonetheless.

“What would you offer?”

“How about never calling the crow ‘Rumple Junior’ again?”

He chuckles, and Belle can feel the quick and sharp rise and fall of his chest against her. This time she allows a sigh to escape, but it’s hidden below a cacophonous roar outside.

“I might take you up on that deal.”

Unable to help herself, Belle giggles, and this sound is not muffled by Mother Nature’s angry cry.

“No,” she says softly, “I think it’s better to let it run its course. I may wish to go outside, but I think I’m content with where I am for the moment.”

It’s intentional; Rumplestiltskin is a wordsmith. He speaks with intention and listens for intent and meaning in the words of others. She’s meant her comment to sound exactly as it came out. She hopes he understands it as such.

“E-exactly where you are?” His voice is soft and hesitant, more akin to a nervous schoolboy than an all-powerful Dark One.

“Exactly where I am,” Belle agrees, letting out a boisterous cackle when the crow hops from Rumple’s shoulder to her head, nestling down in her curls comfortably.

“Damned bird,” she hears Rumplestiltskin mutter as he steps away from her. Belle cannot help but laugh at the hilarity of the situation, and while she wishes Rumple Junior – as she’s going to call him simply because it irritates his namesake – had chosen a different time to use her head as his pillow, she finds the entire encounter refreshing, elating, and hopeful. She watches as Rumple moves to the dining room table where the tea tray is laid out, then tosses a glance out the window once more.

“Storm on,” she mutters to the rain, “I’m very much content to stay inside after all.”

* * *

Belle kneels on the opposite side of the table watching intently as Rumplestiltksin gently catches the bird in his hands and pulls him out of the cage. The bird flaps his wings as best he can with the binding obstructing the right one and caws happily. Belle lifts her head as Rumple carries the bird over to the other work table and she stands to follow him. 

"How is he?" 

Rumple glances back at Belle, then nods for her to come closer. 

"Hold out your han and we will see." 

She cups her hands in front of her and Rumple hands the crow over to her. Belle is very aware of his hands brushing against hers, the rough skin scratching her in a pleasant manner. They’ve been more tactile in the week since they stood at the window and Belle is grateful for the fact. She’s come to the realization that she’s quite fond of Rumplestiltskin, and it’s with eager anticipation and bated breath that she awaits the next moment that his hands will touch her. She craves it more than she craves the sunlight, which made a brief appearance two days ago, though its light had not been enough to chase away the rain. 

The crow settles in Belle’s hands, content in the exchange between his caretakers. Belle holds him firmly but gently, afraid to keep too tight a grip lest the bird grow fearful. He’s been trusting so far, but he’s still a wild creature, and may decide at any moment that his trust and patience has run out. She glances up at Rumple while he carefully extends the bird’s wing, slowly unwrapping the dressing to examine and clean the wounds. He’s rather wild himself, in his own way. Unpredictable in many ways while completely predictable in others. She’d never expected him to be so gentle with her. She’d expected his tricks and mischief, but not his kindness. Not his caring nature. Not his uncertainty. He’s very much a wild being trapped in a world full of people who don’t understand him. 

Belle likes to think she understands; she’s often felt trapped by that very same thing. 

"Looks like he’s nearly ready to go," Rumple says, drawing her out of her thoughts. She looks at the wing and is surprised to find that it looks much better. 

"You did a wonderful job," she praises. The bird flaps his wings as a form of agreement, then decides to experiment with his freedom. He takes off out of Belle’s hands, causing her to cry out in surprise and lurch forward, trying to keep the bird from getting away, or worse, getting injured. 

She misses, instead bumping into Rumple, who steadies her with hands on her arms. She turns, noticing distantly that his hands slide along with her, keeping her in his grasp even as she moves to follow the bird’s movement. He lands on the top shelf of one of Rumplestiltksin’s cases, and settles down to begin preening his newly freed wing. 

Belle lets out a small laugh, happy to see the bird doing well. 

"He’s not a pet," Rumple says quietly behind her. Belle nods in agreement. She knows the bird can’t stay. She wishes it could; she’s grown rather fond of the creature, but she understands that the bird doesn’t belong here. She wonders though, if given the choice, what the bird might do. Stay or go? She once wondered what her answer might be to that very question but now she is certain she has the answer. 

Rumple’s hands slip away from her and without thinking, she turns and catches them, refusing to let go even when he looks at her with wide, panicked eyes. 

"When will we release him?" Belle asks softly, fighting the urge to link their fingers together. She’s been forward enough, and just as she’d been careful with the crow, she dare not startle the man before her with any more surprising movements. 

"In a day or so," he says at last, "After I’ve made sure he’ll be all right on his own." 

"Of course," Belle says, trying to hide the sadness that she feels. Once the bird is gone, she will have no reason to linger in his workroom without raising suspicion. She suspects herself that Rumplestiltskin will not mind so much, but she worries that perhaps this tender… _thing_ that has come between them will vanish the moment the bird is gone. Because the bird is going to leave and the storm outside will cease, and then what will there be to keep her so close to Rumplestiltskin? 

The solemnness from before returns, but this time Rumplestiltskin doesn’t seem to notice. He’s too distracted by their joined hands to see anything else, and if Belle is honest, she can’t decide if she’s grateful for that fact or not. 

"I should release you, too." 

She almost doesn’t realize he’s talking to her until he lets go of her hands. She looks down where her hands are hanging in mid-air and then to Rumplestiltskin who looks as solemn as she feels. 

"What?" 

"I should release you, too." 

She shakes her head. “No.” 

His brow raises at her refusal. “No?” 

"I made a deal-"

"I’d rather you be here because you chose to be here," he interrupts, his tone full of bitterness. Does he regret their deal? He must if he’s suddenly distraught over the fact that she’s here. Frowning, Belle corrects him. 

"I didn’t have to agree to your terms," she reminds him, "I _chose_ to come here. Forever.” 

"And now that you’re here?" He asks, stepping up to her menacingly, "You certainly can’t choose to stay when you’ve already bound yourself to me."

"Then give me the choice." 

The anger that was beginning to boil over simmers instantly at her words. “The choice?” 

"Yes," she says with a shrug, "Give me the option to leave or to stay. Really mean it, and see what I choose." She crosses her arms stubbornly, "If you’re so upset over not knowing what I would do, take a chance and find out." 

He looks uncertain, like he can’t bear to know what her answer might be. If she stays, that means something that neither of them are quite brave enough to face and if she leaves….

Stepping aside, Rumple waves his hand toward the door. “Then you have your choice. I offer it freely. Stay or go. No harm shall befall your family should you choose the latter.” 

"I know," Belle says, "But the confirmation is nice to have." 

"Then what do you choose, little bird?" 

She doesn’t move, doesn’t speak. She stays firmly planted in her spot before him, arms still crossed and staring Rumplestiltskin down defiantly, challenging him to understand. He waits for several long moments, then a hesitant, fleeting smiles touches his lips. 

"I see." 

"Do you?" She asks and his hopeful gaze shifts to one of confusion. "I choose _you_ ,” she says in a whisper, “However you wish that take that. I choose you. I miss home of course, but I wouldn’t give up being here –with _you_ \- for anything.” 

"But I wasn’t a choice," he tells her, stepping forward almost without realizing it. "Your choice was to stay here or to go." 

"And yet I chose you anyway." 

It’s startling, she can see in the way his eyes darken, almost as if the clouds outside the window have drifted behind his eyes. “Me,” he says, reaching for her again. 

She nods, waiting expectantly for him to come closer. She can scarcely believe what’s happening; she hadn’t thought anything would ever come from her secret thoughts and hidden feelings but it seems that perhaps she is mistaken. For once, she’s all right with being wrong. 

He leans closer to her, almost as if in a trance. She dare not speak, not even to breathe his name lest she break the spell he seems to be under and steps away. Belle cannot stomach the thought of him not following through with what she suspects is coming. She wants it desperately. His lips are a breath’s away from hers, and with a sigh Belle closes the gap between them, lips hesitantly brushing- 

_Crash!_

A harsh flash of lightning lights up the sky, and is promptly followed by the loudest crack of thunder Belle has ever heard. They jump away from each other, startled. The crow jumps in fright and swoops down to land on Belle’s head and she lets out a cackle as the ridiculousness of the entire situation dawns on her. 

Rumple glares at the window, curses under his breath, and turns to storm out of the room. Confused, Belle follows and takes Rumple’s hand once more, her good mirth not allowing her to fear his sudden attempt at departure. 

"Where are you going?" 

“Away.” 

She giggles, “Why? I thought you were going to kiss me.” 

He stiffens and answers tersely, “I was.” 

"Well, then?" She asks, spreading her arms out before her in welcome of his return. He glares. 

"The moment is bloody well ruined," he snaps, turning around again, "Probably for the best really. I was stupid to ever think-" 

"Rumplestiltskin, you get your stubborn ass back here and kiss me right now!" 

He stops at her sudden demand and spins around on his heel to look at her. Her hands are planted on her hips and the scowl on her face is severe, but all of that is supplanted by the fact that she has a crow on her head, and Rumplestiltskin cannot help but double over in a sudden burst of laughter. 

"What is so funny?" She demands, and the crow flaps his wings as if to demand an answer as well. 

"You look ridiculous," he says as he struggles for breath, "And I can’t quite decide if I should toss the crow out for interrupting us or thank the stupid creature for even getting us here in the first place." 

"Rumple Junior is not stupid!" She counters hotly, then softens as she registers the rest of what Rumplestiltskin said. "Where are we, exactly?" 

"On the brink of something incredibly wonderful or dangerously foolish, I think." 

She steps closer to him and he meets her halfway. The bird is still on her head, and Rumple smirks, eyes flicking from the crow to the woman on whose head he rests.

"I think it’s the first one," she says softly, tilting her chin up ever so slightly. 

"Then I shall trust your judgment." 

He kisses her then, deliberately ignoring the bird on Belle’s head. The crow flaps wildly at the quick movement of Belle being pulled tight against Rumplestiltskin, choosing to fly a short distance away from them to peck at the pages of one of Rumplestiltskin’s scrolls. 

Neither Belle nor Rumple notice. 

* * *

The sky is clear for the first time in over two weeks. They clouds haven’t quite returned to their cheerful white fluffiness, but they aren’t the somber gray that has darkened the sky for so long, and Belle counts that as a victory. As much as she enjoys rain and thunder, she believes firmly in the old adage, _everything in moderation_. This storm had truly been an experiment in excess, and she’s grateful for the sudden clearing of the sky.

It’s fitting that the day they’d decided to release the crow back into the wild is the day that the storms cease. Belle almost wonders if Rumplestiltskin used his magic, but when he peeks out a window and lets out a sound of surprise, she knows he didn’t. Regardless of the reason why, whether by design or happenstance, she’s grateful that she can give Rumple Junior a proper farewell. She’s going to miss the bird, partly because she enjoys referring to him by the name she gave him just to get a reaction out of Rumplestiltskin. She’s found other ways to get a reaction out of him, however, so the loss in that regard will not be too great.

He was right, though. Naming the bird, even in jest, has made her attached to the creature and she is sad to see him go. She knows it’s for the best and she will not stop Rumple from releasing the crow back into the wild, but she can’t deny the slight pang in her heart that will come along with the sudden quiet that the bird’s absence brings. There will be no more cawing late at night; no more interrupted kisses by bird-on-the-head. Belle can’t deny she won’t miss that one, but she will miss the crow.

A hand touches the small of her back, and she glances over her shoulder to see Rumplestiltskin standing there, bird cage in one hand and a shy smile on his lips. Belle feels her cheeks flush from his gaze and smiles back, her sadness briefly muted by the delight in seeing Rumplestiltskin and knowing that he is hers.

“It’s time,” he says softly. Belle nods and takes his hand; the feel of his hand in hers sends tingling chills up her arm and straight to her heart, the stimulation making her heart pound in excitement. He squeezes her hand in return and they share another smile before making their way outside.

They retreat to the back of the castle, where the gardens are struggling to flourish in the midst of being drowned by so much water. Belle takes stock of the bushes and trees, the rows upon rows of shrubbery and flowers and thinks of how delightful it would be to spend her days out here, tending to the earth while Rumplestiltskin sits at her side and teases. She doubts he’d actually be of any help, but then he also plays nursemaid to poor animals, so perhaps she’ll be surprised yet again. It’s a pleasant thought.

Rumplestiltskin releases her hand in order to open the cage. The crow hops forward and perches on the opening, then jumps onto Belle’s hand when she softly beckons him forward.

“Good boy,” she coos, stroking her finger underneath his beak. “You’ve been a very good boy,” she says again, “But now it’s time for you to go. If you have a family, I’m sure they’re worried sick about you.”

The bird ruffles his feathers, then spreads his wings out wide, looking regal and healthy. Belle laughs at the bird’s antics and glances at Rumple, who is watching them both with a strange look of fascination dancing across his features. She quiets and tilts her head slightly. The bird follows suit.

“What?”

Shaking his head quickly as if he hadn’t realized that he was staring, Rumple turns away and puts the cage on the ground.

“Nothing,” he says quickly, “Just- nothing.”

She regards him for a moment, wondering what he might have said. For all that they’ve started a relationship together, he seems reluctant to express himself completely in front of her. She wonders if he’s ever been able to open up to anyone before, and the fact that she doesn’t know the answer tells her what she already suspects. She purses her lips and her brow furrows at the thought. She’s going to have to change that. She’s made her choice; she’s here to stay.

Stepping to her, Rumple pets the crow on top of the head, smirking when it caws in delight.

“Would you like to do the honors?” He asks, and Belle nods, trying to fight back the sudden tears that have welled up in her eyes.

She leans forward and presses a kiss to the top of the crow’s head, and whispers, “Be well, Junior.”

Lifting her eyes to the sky, she tosses her hand upwards, and the bird leaps off her finger, wings flapping brilliantly as thetakes off, circling around his caretakers for a moment before moving upward and away. Belle sniffles, then startles as Rumplestiltskin holds out a handkerchief for her. She takes it wordlessly and dots at her eyes to catch the few tears that managed to slip away.

“I feel silly,” she says, curling into Rumplestiltskin as he wraps a comforting arm around her shoulders, “But I’ll miss that bird.”

“He was decidedly not as annoying as some other animals I’ve cared for,” Rumple admits, and it’s enough for Belle to interpret that he cared for the bird as well. Belle wagers he cares for all the animals he tends to, and every departure is bittersweet one.

“I’m sure those snails caused you quite a deal of trouble,” Belle teases, poking his side with her finger. He laughs at that, and Belle feels some of the sorrow dwindle.

“Oh you’ve no idea,” he says, “One of the rabbits got into my potions, managed to turn itself invisible.”

“Oh dear!” Belle exclaims, “I can just imagine the mess _that_ created!”

He grimaces. “I’d rather not talk about it.”

Turning, he lowers his hand down to her waist and starts to guide her back inside. After only a few steps, Belle feels something hit the end of her nose and she looks up to see the clouds have melted into a sea of gray once more. Rain begins to fall all at once, not wasting time with a warning drizzle. It comes full force and before Rumple can think to move, they’re soaked to the skin. Belle laughs happily, breaking away from Rumple to step back and spin, arms stretched out as she embraces the rain.

“We should get you inside, Belle,” Rumple says with concern, “You’ll catch your death out here.”

Belle doesn’t stop spinning. “I’ve faced my share of colds, Rumplestiltskin,” she says in between laughs, “And I’ve been cooped up inside for far too long.”

“Well I’m not going to stand out here in the-“

“Come dance with me!”

He falters, and gives her a confused look. “What?”

She stops twirling and looks at Rumple, her hair hanging limply against her cheeks as she speaks. “I used to dance in the rain when I was younger. I haven’t since my mother died. I’ve been thinking about it ever since the storms started, but then we were caring for the bird and I never got a chance to ask if I could go outside.” She holds her hands out to him, reaching desperately across an invisible divide, hoping he’ll close the gap and come to her. “Dance with me?”

“I don’t dance….”

She frowns, her excitement faltering at his words. “Oh. All right then.”

He steps forward, hesitantly to her and reaches out to cup her face in his hands. “Perhaps an alternative?”

Before she can answer, he leans down and presses his lips to hers, firm and sure, so unlike him when it comes to dealings between them. He’s usually timid, but now he’s anything but, kissing her with a fierce desire that warms her despite the chill of the rain. It’s an acceptable alternative she thinks, so she winds her arms around his neck, lifting up on her tip toes to better reach him. His arms slide around her waist tightly, and then suddenly she’s in the air.

She pulls back slightly to see that Rumple has lifted her in his arms and is spinning her around with him. She laughs, head thrown back in glee. She then lowers her head once more, lips meeting with Rumple’s as he continues to spin. She’s blind to all else; the world has narrowed until all that exists in Rumplestiltskin holding her tight, and she’s content to remain in such a state of blissful warmth and happiness. His lips are insistent, his tongue playful and warm, and his teeth nip with just the right amount of pressure that leaves chills down her spine in the most delightful way.

But then she hears the sound of something hitting metal, a grunt, then feels a sharp thud as she and Rumple crash to the ground in a heap of limbs. Lifting her head, she glances around to see Rumple on his back groaning, then sees the bird cage at his feet, knocked over. She giggles at the realization that he’d tripped, then glances back to Rumple who is staring at her with a mixture of annoyance and amusement. Her giggle grows until she’s laughing outright, and rolls onto her back, laughing as droplets of rain tickle her face. Beside her, Rumple is breathing heavily, then he rolls to hover over her, water dripping from the tips of his hair onto her cheeks.

“And that’s why I don’t dance.”

Giggling, Belle wraps her hands around his neck and pulls him down for another kiss. She breaks away from him after a moment and whispers breathlessly, “Do you think Junior will be all right?”

“I think _the crow_ will be just fine,” Rumple says, lifting a hand to bop Belle on the nose playfully. “He’s a strong fellow. I think he’s going to do well for himself.” That gives Belle some peace and to thank Rumple for the encouragement, she lifts her head to capture his lips once more.

* * *

“Belle.”

Belle stirs from her sleep and immediately reaches for the handkerchief on her bedside table. It’s been two weeks since their stint in the rain and while the weather has since cleared and the sun has been restored to the sky, Belle’s cold still lingers. She claims the cold was worth the pleasure of kissing Rumplestiltskin in the rain. She thinks, now that she isn’t bedridden and miserable looking, he might finally believe her.

“What?” She asks after blowing her nose.

“Come with me,” he says, pulling the covers back. Belle shivers and grabs at them blindly, but all she manages to catch is Rumple’s hand. He tugs her up and she goes willingly, leaning on him lazily as he produces another blanket and drapes it around her shoulders.

“Where are we going?” She asks, snuggling into Rumple as he guides her out of their room and down the stairs. She’d fallen asleep not long after coming inside from their fun in the rain and when she’d awoken later that evening to find Rumple laying on top of the covers idly playing with her fingers, linking them between his and stroking them gently, she’d wordlessly decided that she never wanted to sleep anywhere else ever again.

So she stays.

“I’ve a surprise for you,” he says, his voice quiet. It’s early morning; the sun is barely peeking over the tops of the mountains. Belle knows Rumple doesn’t sleep much or often, but she can’t figure out what he has for her that requires her to rise so early. They walk together, Rumple’s presence a soothing warmth that surrounds her as she tries to wake herself up.

They reach the window in the great hall and Rumple sits on the window seal then pulls Belle in between his legs. The ease in which he does it thrills her; he’s still timid at times. She knows he cares, but in his moments of boldness when he initiates touches or kisses or endearments she feels her love for him bloom further and further. The man is so deserving of love, she thinks. She hopes she can convey that sentiment properly.

She settles against him, ready to drift back to sleep. But then Rumple jostles her and taps his finger against the window.

“Look.”

Belle obeys and when her eyes falls on the thing she’s been brought down to see, she can’t help but to gasp in delight.

On the budding tree just outside the window lies a nest. It’s about half done by the looks of it, and Belle claps her hands together in delight to see the first real sign of spring emerging after such a long, drawn out storm.

A bird lands on the nest, some twigs in hand, and Belle turns to look at Rumple in surprise. “It’s Junior!”

He gives her a mock glare then laughs and rests his chin on her shoulder. “Indeed it is. Seems he’s decided to return.”

Belle watches as the crow arranges the twigs until the design pleases him, then flutters down to hunt for more. Soon he’ll bring a mate here and they will start a family of little crows. Belle is eager to watch the family form and grow; it gives her hope for what is growing between her and Rumplestiltskin.

“No,” Belle says thoughtfully, “I think he decided to stay.”

Rumple hums contentedly at that, the hidden meaning of her words clear as the sky outside.

Three weeks later Rumple rushes Belle back to the window to show her the mate Junior has managed to find for himself. Belle coos over the female, praising Junior for his good fortune.

“We should name her, too,” Belle says idly, wondering what Rumple will say to her little joke.

“Oh, I already have,” Rumple says, sidling up behind her and wrapping his arms around her waist.

“Oh?” Belle asks. Rumple hums in answer. “And what did you decide to name her?”

“Belle Junior.”

She cackles at that and turns in his arms. “Payback, I assume?”

He shrugs. “Something like that.”

She shakes her head at his silliness, then glances back to the crows who are settling down together in their new home.

“I think Rumple and Belle make a lovely couple, don’t you?”

Rumple turns her head back to face him and presses his lips to hers in a warm, melting kiss. He releases her with a sigh. Squeezing her tightly, he presses his forehead to hers and answers, “I think so, too.”


End file.
